CHEEKS as soft as July peaches,-
Lips whose velvet scarlet teaches
Poppies paleness, round, large eyes,
Ever great with new surprise,
Minutes filled with shadeless gladness,
Minutes just as brimmed with sadness,-
Happy smiles and wailing cries,
Crows and laughs and tearful eyes,
Lights and shadows, swifter born.
Than on wind-swept autumn corn,
Ever some new tiny notion,
Making every limb all motion,
Catchings up of legs and arms,
Throwings back and small alarms,
Clutching fingers, straitening jerks,
Twining feet whose each toe works,
Kickings up and straining risings,
Mother's ever-new surprisings,
Hands all wants and looks all wonder
At all things the heavens under,
Tiny scorns of smiled reprovings
That have more of love than lovings,
Mischiefs done with such a winning
Archness that we prize such sinning;
Breakings dire of plates and glasses,
Graspings small at all that passes;
Pullings off of all that's able
To be caught from tray or table;
Silences, small meditations,
Deep as thoughts of cares for nations,
Breaking into wisest speeches
In a tongue that nothing teaches,
All the thoughts of whose possessing
Must be wooed to light by guessing;
Slumbers, such sweet angel-seemings
That we'd ever have such dreamings,
Till from sleep we see thee breaking,
And we'd always have thee waking;
Wealth for which we know no measure,
Pleasure high above all pleasure,
Gladness brimming over gladness,
Joy in care, delight in sadness,
Loveliness beyond completeness,
Sweetness distancing all sweetness,
Beauty all that beauty may be,
That's May Bennett,
NAE shoon to hide her tiny tae,
Nae stocking on her feet;
Her supple ankles white as snaw,
Or carly blossoms sweet.
Her simple dress of sprinkled pink,
Her double dimpled chin,
Her puckered lip and baumy mow,
With na one tooth between.
Her een, sae like her mither's een,
Two gentle liquid things;
Her face is like an angel's face,
We're glad she has no wings.
She is the budding o' our love
A giftie God gie'd us;
We munna luve the gift ow'r weel,
"T wad be nae blessing thus.
SOFT be the hour of thy sleeping,
Little one mine, dear little one mine;
Safe, gentle lamb, be thy keeping,
In the arms of the Shepherd divine;
Fond as thy mother's love,
Yet there is one above
Loves thee still dearer,
And when for thee she
Grace, peace, and happy days –
Bends down to hear her.
Glad be the hour of thy waking,
Little one mine, dear little one mine, God grant that the pangs of heart-breaking Never visit that bosom of thine.
God grant thy stream of life,
Unvexed by guilt and strife,
Gently may flow;
And when the time shall come,
To thy eternal home
'Tis thine to go,
Calm be the hour of thy dying,
Loved one of mine, dear loved one of mine;
Untrammelled thy spirit, when flying
To the land where the holy ones shine.
SLEEP, baby, sleep!
Thy father watches the sheep,
Thy mother is shaking the dream-land tree,
And down falls a little dream on thee;
Sleep, baby, sleep!
The large stars are the sheep,
The little stars are the lambs, I guess,
The fair moon is the shepherdess;
Sleep, baby, sleep!
Sleep, baby, sleep!
Our Saviour loves his sheep;
He is the Lamb of God on high,
Who for our sakes came down to die.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
Sleep, baby, sleep!
I'll buy for thee a sheep,
With a golden bell so fine to see,
And it shall frisk and play with thee,
Sleep, baby, sleep!
Sleep, baby, sleep!
And cry not like a sheep;
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